


Might I But Moor Tonight

by dietplainlite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Corsetry, Cunnilingus, Espionage, F/M, Reylo - Freeform, Secret Rendezvous, Spying, Vaginal Fingering, Victorian, they're virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: London, 1890. Tensions between the First Order and the Resistance are rising. Kylo Ren and Rey, on opposite sides, keep crossing paths after their first momentous meeting. Will they resist the inexorable pull that draws them together, again and again?





	Might I But Moor Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittersnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/gifts), [LueurdeLaube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LueurdeLaube/gifts).



Spying has been considered a man’s purview ever since the game was invented. However, some years ago, the Resistance figured out that women often make the most useful spies. For one, very few men believe women to be capable or intelligent enough. Women are also less likely to get in their cups and brag about their exploits.  Most importantly, there are circumstances in which women are rendered practically invisible. For Rey, this has mostly meant posing as a housemaid.

In a large house with many maids, the Lady of the house may not know the name of anyone but her lady’s maid and the Housekeeper, and she certainly won’t remember anyone else’s face. They’re simply interchangeable, like handkerchiefs or gloves.

Tonight, however, invisibility is neither possible, nor desired.

“Miss Aurelia Delong!” the butler announces as Rey walks into the room. “And Miss Rosamund Tico.”

Growing up near the shipyards, Rey picked up several languages, but her French has been the most useful to the Resistance, allowing her--after careful honing of her accent, grammar and mannerisms—to occasionally take on the persona of a French heiress.

The goal, for Rose and Rey, is simple. Dance with the men, allow them to take moderate liberties if need be, and when they’re drunk and enchanted enough, carefully coax intel from them.

The ballroom is teeming with First Order members, from lackeys to officers, though none of the generals or admirals seem to be in attendance. That’s quite alright, however. Generals and admirals aren’t as eager to impress, so they’re not as eager to talk. They are, however, far more entitled when it comes to pinching bottoms.

After a few minutes spent greeting their hostess and various guests, Rey and Rose take up a post in the corner of the room, surveying for likely marks. The punch is quite strong, so their chances are good.

Rey has just decided on a newly minted corporal when she catches a glimpse of _him_.

“What on earth is he doing here?” she hisses to Rose.

Rose doesn’t have to ask who Rey is talking about. A full head taller than almost every man in the room, he is impossible to miss, but even if he were of an average height, he could never blend in.  He keeps his hair unfashionably long—some say it’s to hide his ears, but Rey suspects a different variety of vanity—and in this room full of uniforms, he is an anomaly in his plain black tailcoat and white waistcoat.

“Last I heard, he had gone back to America,” Rose says.

Apparently, he had never left, or had turned right around and gotten back on the boat, because instead of being in New York, or Boston, or Philadelphia, or wherever he’s from, Kylo Ren is in this ballroom in Kensington, drinking punch and nodding gravely at a timid looking Lieutenant.

“He can’t see me,” Rey says to Rose, handing over her cup. “Get what information you still can and meet me at the Porg & Bantha in an hour.”

Rey exits as smoothly as she can, not wanting to draw attention by moving too quickly. Besides, she’s so tightly laced this evening that anything faster than a brisk walk might kill her. Damn this dress. It’s stunning, but had been made for a woman with a smaller waist than Rey’s, or at least the determination to make her waist so tiny. She stops to breathe at the bottom of the stairs, praying it won’t take long to retrieve her cloak.

* * *

Kylo Ren looks up from his punch and over the head of Mitaka and spots a woman talking to their hostess. She looks nervous. She also looks familiar. Surely, he’s mistaken. Why would she be here?

“Who is that?” he says, interrupting Mitaka and nodding in the woman’s direction.

Mitaka looks over his shoulder. “Oh! Mademoiselle Delong. French girl, rather brilliant smile but a bit of a flirt.”

The young woman finally takes leave of the hostess and exits through the double doors, her pace increasing as soon as she’s clear.

“Excuse me,” he says, handing his cup to the nearest passing footman and taking off after her. 

The first time he saw her, she was wearing a maid’s uniform: black wool all the way up to her neck and a blinding white apron. Part of a party of officers and officials, he was up late at Colonel Kaplan’s--a strategy session having devolved into a game of cards. He had escaped to the study for a moment’s peace, and found her rifling through the top desk drawer.

_“What are you doing?”_

_She stops and stands up straight, dropping the papers in her hand. She looks at him with big eyes that are far too soulful for such a young face, then answers in a broad Yorkshire accent, “You caught me stealin’, sir. Please, if you don’t say anything, I’d appreciate it and just be on my way. I’ll never come back, I swear.”_

_Kylo considers. There’s something about her that he can’t place. This is no ordinary housemaid. He moves behind the desk to get a better look at her. Her eyes widen but she stands still, staring ahead._

_“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says._

_There are men who would hurt her, men who would take advantage of a girl in this position, promising silence in exchange for certain favors. Even if he were that type of man, he’s more curious than aroused, no matter how pretty she may be. And she is pretty, if a little scrawny._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Jane. Sir.”_

_“Aren’t you all. Your real name?”_

_A pause.  “Mary.”_

_“If I ask again will you say Elizabeth?”_

_She looks up at him, eyebrow raised. “Martha.”_

_“Alright, Martha.  Tell me what you were really doing, or I’ll wake the entire house.”_

_“It’s just what it looks like, sir. My sister is horribly sick, and I’m already sendin’ what I can. The Colonel always keeps some extra tobacco in his desk. If I take a little to sell, no one notices, and it’s a few extra shillings I can send home.”_

_It’s almost convincing. To someone else, it likely would be, considering how glossy her eyes are, and the delicate quiver in her lower lip. A nice touch, but one of the few good things he inherited from his mother is the ability to read people. The only thing she’s told him that’s true is that she was stealing. Everything else is a lie wrapped up in that bit of truth._

_She flinches when he reaches out and touches her neck, right above her collar, and gasps when he dips his fingers beneath the cloth, yet she doesn’t scream. Making a scene would be the worst thing she could do._

_There’s a necklace under her uniform, as he suspected. He pulls at the chain until the pendant comes out, a small silver medallion with the Resistance symbol stamped into it._

He catches up with her at the bottom of the stairs. She’s distracted, breathing quickly with her palm to her forehead, so she doesn’t notice him until he’s got her by the arm.  She makes a small squawking sound, but swallows it with a look of resignation when she sees who her assailant is.

When he gets her into a small side parlor and closes the door, he forgets for a moment why he brought her in here. He’s not sure how he recognized her tonight; she’s thoroughly transformed. Even under dimmed gas light, she’s radiant in green chiffon, her hair swept up in an intricate style. The gown is low cut and sleeveless, showcasing the gentle swoop of her collarbones and the graceful slope of her shoulders. Instead of silver polish and castile soap, she smells like roses.

This time, he’s not sure if his curiosity is the only thing that’s piqued.

“What are you staring at?” she says.

“You.”

“Why?”

“You’ve come up in the world.”

“Hardly.”

“Aren’t you afraid one of your former employers will recognize you?”

“Housemaids aren’t allowed to look the Master and Lady of the house in the eye, as I’m sure you know. What are you doing here?”

 “You’re asking _me_ that?”

“I heard you left for America two weeks ago.”

“Change of plans. Why are you here?”

She sighs. “You know why. May I go? I didn’t get anything useful and it’s pointless for me to be here, now.”

“You didn’t come alone, though.”

“Of course I did.”

Her face remains defiant, but as he moves closer, she takes a deep breath and steps back, bumping into the writing desk and knocking a crystal paperweight off. Kylo stoops, catching it. He’s almost chest to chest with her when he stands. When he reaches past her to place it back on the desk, he hears her breath catch in his ear. He looks at her, at the sheen of sweat developing on her brow, at her hands, gripping the edge of the desk, at her eyes, full of fury.

“Why do you despise me so much?” he asks.

* * *

_Though Rey’s primary mission when she goes undercover is to listen, sometimes she is tasked in finding tangible intelligence to pass on to the Resistance. These missions are far more likely to result in capture, and part of her training had involved what to do if she were ever caught: take responsibility for a small crime, accept the consequences, but bargain if you must. If that doesn’t work, find a way to escape._

_Incapacitating this man is not an option. He’s much bigger than she is--bigger than most men--and while he’s dressed like a gentleman, he’s certainly not a country lord whose only exercise consists of fox hunting and womanizing. He may not be a gentleman at all._

_Her best chance at escape had been when he was distracted by the necklace, but, to be truthful, she had been distracted by the size of his hand. And the shape of his mouth. In books, men are sometimes described as having “a sensitive mouth,” but she never knew what that must mean, until now. She didn’t know a man’s mouth could look like that._

_He regards her for another long moment, then steps back, holding his hand out. “Door key, please.”_

_Rey hands over the key, which she had pilfered from Mrs. Weaver while she’d been in the bath. That had been the most frightening mission Rey had ever undertaken, and she half expected the housekeeper to know there was a key missing from her massive ring immediately, from the weight alone. Perhaps Mrs. Weaver would have believed her story about stealing tobacco and dismissed her rather than calling the police. She was kind, as far as housekeepers went. It would have been a far better option than what Rey is currently presented with._

_“Sit in that chair and don’t move until I come back,” he says, indicating the desk chair.  Rey sits, and he stalks out of the room, locking the door from the outside. She runs over to it immediately, but the lock requires a key from this side, as well. She presses her ear to the door, listening._

_When his footsteps recede, Rey does what any self-respecting freedom fighter would do in her situation. She opens the window, which overlooks the back garden, drops down onto the kitchen roof, and from there, down to the ground. She lands in a pile of fresh mulch, but it beats the alternative._

_She lays low in a safe house for two days, emerging to find that neither the First Order nor the police are looking for her. Had her captor been too embarrassed by her escape to report her?_

_Later that evening, Finn brings bundles of fish and chips back to headquarters. She spreads the newspaper wrapping out on her work table, so she can eat while she’s tinkering. Halfway through, she’s struck by a photo from a ship christening._

_“That’s him,” Rey says, pointing a greasy finger at the photo. That’s the man who caught me._

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes, absolutely. How many people look like that?”_

_“Rey,” Finn says. That’s Lady Organa-Solo’s son._

He’s standing so close to her again. Does he know how much it affects her, or does he do it without thinking?

“Why do I despise you? I—You’re my enemy,” she says, focusing on the top button of his waistcoat. She can’t look at this face at this distance, especially not his mouth, or the moles scattered across his face, or the soft wave of his hair. “You’re a treacherous snake.”

“You don’t know me,” he says, quietly.

“I know everything I need to know.”

“You do?” She looks up at him. His face is far softer than it should be right now.  One might even say he looks a bit hurt. “Ah, you do.”

He steps back from her and goes to the door, leaving her oddly chilled. He opens it and gestures for her to leave.

“What?”

“I’m letting you go.”

“Why?”

“Would you rather I turn you in?”

“No! I…” She stops, staring at him, mouth open.

She wants to stay in this room. With him.

* * *

_They meet again in the park, on a snowy day, not long after a march that had gotten violent, leaving several Resistance members dead. He notices her first, trudging along with an armload of packages, wearing a men’s overcoat. She’s stopped to watch some children build a snow man. If not for her eyes, he doesn’t think he would have noticed her, but he takes a second glance because they’re lovely, and a third because he knows them._

_When she turns them on him, they take on a hard glint and her smile drops._

_“Come to finish the job?”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Your forces beat unarmed civilians just days ago. Ten are dead and at least six more aren’t expected to recover. Dozens were injured so badly they can’t work.”_

_“They aren’t my forces.”_

_“They may as well be.”_

_She has her hair down, like a girl, and he’s tempted to reach out and brush the snow off from where it’s gathered on her shoulders. If he did that, however, he’s certain she would bite him. Maybe he wouldn’t mind._

_“I had nothing to do with what happened in Hosnia Square.”_

_“Did you do anything to stop it?”_

_He didn’t, so he doesn’t answer._

_“Have a good day. Sir,” she says, and continues on her way._

Kylo had fully expected her to leave the room when he bid her go, so it’s unclear what he’s supposed to do or say when she stays. He’s never been this confounded by anyone before. They barely know each other. He’s not certain he knows her real name. Yet every time she’s near, he’s inexorably drawn to her. And now it appears she may have the same issue with him.

“You’re staying?”

She looks at him with dark, bewildered eyes, and nods her head.

 He closes the door and turns the lock.

* * *

_She’s handing out pamphlets in Covent Garden when a firm hand grasps her by the forearm and pulls her toward an unoccupied stall._

_“Oi!” she says, and instinctively twists out of the person’s grip. She turns around and it’s Kylo Ren. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”_

_“Please, come with me and I’ll explain.”_

_She follows him into the empty stall, but hovers close to the door._

_“Well?”_

_He grabs her again, pulling her into a corner as two police officers walk by. From their body language, they’re out for more than a friendly patrol._

_“Are they looking for me?”_

_“Yes. They’re cracking down, under the pretense that handing out pamphlets is an incitement to riot.”_

_“Bastards.” She looks at him. He’s still got ahold of her arms. “Er, thank you. I need to go now, to warn the others.”_

_He reaches up and tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear. She hates wearing her hair up; she can never get it to stay, no matter how many pins she sticks in it.  His gloved hand brushes against her cheek. The leather and the stitching are so fine that they must cost enough to feed a child for a week. She steps away._

_“Again, thank you, Mr. Ren.”_

_“I don’t know your real name. Do I keep calling you Martha?”_

_It would be foolish to tell him her name. She doesn’t know why he helped her. Perhaps he thinks he can soften her up and extract information from her, the way she does with men at parties.  Whatever his reasoning, a man who would give up information on his own father cannot be trusted. But there’s something so open about his face, the way he raises his eyebrows so hopefully._

_“Rey,” she says, and ducks out the door._

* * *

When people see a man like Kylo—tall, strong, and rich—they assume that man has extensive experience with women, both flirting with women of his class, and dalliances with women who aren’t. Between his studies and his awkward nature, however, Kylo has rarely conversed with women outside of the idle chit chat at dinner parties and balls. When he went abroad, he found ruins and museums more captivating than the red-light districts and burlesque theaters.

Now, locked in a room with a woman whom he finds utterly captivating, he would trade every one of those ancient rocks and artifacts he’d seen, if it meant he would know what the hell he’s doing.

He closes the distance between them in a few steps. When he reaches her, he wraps one arm around her tiny waist and pulls her against his chest.

“I don’t understand this,” she whispers.

“Neither do I.”

Her mouth is almost as alluring as her eyes, and when she looks up at him with parted lips, he thinks a quick prayer, and presses his lips to hers. She softens against him and circles her arms around his neck, allowing him to pull her even closer to his body. The various sensations send his head reeling. The smooth silk of her dress under his hands, the pounding of her heart, her heated breath, her _mouth_. There has never been anything like the soft pull of her lips and the slip of her tongue against his. He would chide himself for waiting so long, when he could have done this whenever he liked, but he’s certain it wouldn’t feel quite this good with just anyone.

They pull apart, breathing hard and staring at each other, then she pulls him back to kiss him again. Frustrated at having to stoop, he lifts her so that she’s sitting on the desk, with no concern for the knick knacks that fall onto the carpet. He gathers her skirts and pushes them up above her knees, revealing silk stockings with pink embroidered flowers running up the sides. He takes his right glove off with his teeth and tosses it aside, then runs his bare hand along her calf, stopping at her knee. When she doesn’t protest, he slides it up, under the hem of her drawers, past the top of her stocking to the soft skin of her thigh. She places her hand over his before he can go any further.

“We can’t do…everything,” she says.

“I wouldn’t dream of asking.”

“I think you would.”

He smiles and kisses her again.

* * *

This is utter madness. Rey has never kissed a boy before, not even during childhood games of tag. She can’t think straight around this man. Her mind becomes hazier with each kiss and caress, and heat blooms between her legs.

Her virtue is the only currency she has, and she’s fought too hard, sometimes literally, to hold onto it, only to throw it away on a dark practical-stranger who also happens to be her enemy. If he keeps kissing her neck like this, however, her grip on her resolve may slip.

She lets go of his hand, and he moves it further up her thigh, gripping firmly as he presses kisses along her collarbone. She buries her hands in his hair and pushes it back to uncover his ears, running her thumbs along their edges. He moans softly and kisses her mouth again. He reaches under her dress with both hands, finding the waistband of her drawers.

“May I?” he asks. He looks completely wrecked, as disheveled as if he’s been in a fight, a desperate edge in his voice.

“What are you going to do?”

He blushes to the tips of his ears and he leans in to speak low in her ear. “I’d like to put my mouth on you. Between your legs.”

The world goes still.  Rey has a vague idea that people do something like that, but never imagined someone doing it to her, or wanting to.

“Have you done that before?” she answers, just as low.

“No,” he says. “But I saw. In a brothel. I wasn’t there for…I was with an acquaintance. I had too much wine and passed out on the settee and when I woke up, my companion and his…lady were doing that.” He ducks his head. “I pretended I was still asleep and watched.”

The story should disgust her, but the warmth and wetness between her legs only increases. She wants to ask him more questions, about what it was like, if the lady enjoyed it, if his friend seemed to enjoy it. If Kylo thought about it when he touched himself. Does he touch himself?

Mostly, however, she wants him to do it to her.

“Yes,” she whispers.

His mouth opens, then closes, and he swallows hard. She helps him locate the tie on her drawers, and he looks her in the eye as he slowly pulls them down her legs, maintaining eye contact as he pushes her skirts the rest of the way up. For a moment she’s afraid he won’t like what he sees. She’s only looked at it once, with a hand mirror, and found it all confusing.

When he looks down, he takes a shaky breath, looking all the world like she’s just shown him the key to the kingdom of heaven. He looks back up at her, then down, and takes off his other glove. He reaches out, hand shaking, and runs his finger along her seam. It feels miraculous, and a long sigh escapes her. She’s touched herself before, but it was always more frustrating than pleasurable, and once her guardian had walked in on her, and threatened to cut off her hand if she caught her doing it again. But he is so reverent, and gentle, and when he touches the nub at her center, she moans and bucks her hips toward him. It feels so good, but it makes her ache, and feel strangely empty, and she isn’t sure how to ask him to help her with that.

“Please?” she whispers, and he falls to his knees.

She leans back as he positions himself with her legs over his shoulders. He looks up at her with those dark eyes, then begins kissing up her thigh. He’s still looking at her when he opens her with his fingers and takes the first lick.

It’s like a jolt of electricity, and her first instinct is to push his head away, it’s so intense, but he has ahold of her thigh and as he keeps licking her, she only wants him to go faster. She wants to tell him that, but all she can manage is another whispered, “Please.”

* * *

Kylo has very little idea of what he’s doing, but judging from Rey’s responses, he’s doing something right.  One hand has his hair in a death grip and the other supports her weight, but when he wraps his lips around the nub at her center and begins to suck, she releases his hair and throws her arm across her mouth to muffle her cries.

He can’t believe how she tastes, and smells, how every sound she makes increases his desire to the point that he may explode without her ever even touching him.

“Please,” she whispers. “Like that.”

He continues to suck on her center, while ghosting his fingers along her entrance. He looks up at her, one finger poised right outside. Her hair has tumbled down around her shoulders, and she’s looking at him like she wants to devour him. He pushes the tip of his finger inside her, then stops, asking a silent question.

“Yes,” she pants, and throws her head back and moans as he slowly slides his finger inside her.

“Rey, you have to be quiet,” he says. “If we get caught, I’ll be forced to marry you.”

“Is that a threat?” she says.

In answer, he begins moving his finger, in and out of her, slowly so he doesn’t hurt her. Her head lolls back again, and she whimpers quietly. When he adds a second finger, her muscles clench around him and he goes light headed with desire, imagining what she would feel like around his cock. He fucks her with his two fingers, watching her face all the while, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

“Put your mouth on me again,” she begs, and he obliges. It takes a minute to coordinate the movement of his hand and his tongue, and after a while, he withdraws his fingers so he can use his hands to steady her, afraid she’s going to fall off the desk. She suppresses her cries as best she can and finally, she inhales sharply as her body goes rigid, then she relaxes with a soft, drawn out wail as the tiny nub pulses beneath his tongue.

* * *

Chest heaving, Rey tugs at his shoulders to get him to stand up again. He does so, wiping his mouth and then pulling her skirts back over her knees. 

“That was---” she starts, but ends in a giggle, her head feeling wobbly.  She wants to thank him, but with one last giggle, she falls forward in a dead faint.

She wakes up to find herself on a chaise, lying on her back with a pillow under her feet, Kylo kneeling beside her. She coughs and sits up, head swimming, and discovers that her bodice and her stays are open.

“How long was I out?” she says.

“Not long,” he says. He sits behind her on the chaise, moving her hair out of the way and blowing gently on the back of her neck. The sensation sends tingles down her spine, and elsewhere, but also drives some of the cobwebs out of her head.

“Can you lace me up again?” she asks. He must have been frantic, if he’d yanked the lace completely out in his efforts to free her.

“Yes,” he says. He starts tugging at her stays to straighten them, but then she feels his finger run lightly down and then up her back. “These marks, do they hurt?”

“It’s not pleasant, but it’s not always this bad. I didn’t have a chemise that would work with this dress.”

He blows cool air on her back now, and gently rubs the worst spots, where the grommets have dug into her skin.

“We should go,” she says. “Someone’s bound to want in here eventually.”

She’s quiet as he laces her up, focusing on the rasp of the cord through the grommets and the creak of the boning. The first time he tries to button her bodice, it won’t close.

“You have to pull them tight,” she says. “It’s the only way it’ll fit.”

“This is probably why you fainted.”

“I was fine before. It may have had something to do with…whatever it was that happened just now.”  Her face goes hot, remembering, as she holds onto the back of the chaise while he pulls the laces, trying not to laugh at how absurd the situation is.

“Why,” he asks, as he begins working on the buttons. “Are there eighteen buttons on this? How are you supposed to get it on and off?"

"Ladies don't dress themselves. Is this really the time to talk about the ridiculousness of ladies’ fashion?”

He shuts up, concentrating on his task. Those tiny buttons can’t be easy for a man with hands that size. When he’s finished, he places a kiss at the base of her neck. A hot spike of desire shoots through her, but she tamps it down and focuses on plaiting her hair. There’s no use trying to get it back in anything resembling its former style. He kisses her again, on the shoulder.

“Rey,” he says.

“What?”

“Go away with me.”

She pauses, mid plait. “Go where?”

“Anywhere. Away from all of this. The First Order and the Resistance. No one’s ever going to win, and we’ll waste our youth on it.”

She turns around, letting her hair fall from her hands, letting the plait unravel. His eyes are sincere, and so sad. “I can’t just leave. There’s too much to do. I can’t abandon everyone.”

“Please.”

“You could always join me. Join us. If you care so little about your cause, if your heart isn’t in it, there’s no reason you couldn’t join ours. There are so many ways you could help.”

His mouth turns up in he saddest of smiles as he reaches out to touch her hair. “I don’t think anyone else would be as welcoming as you.”

“We could win them over.”

“Rey,” he says, his voice rough. “It won’t work.”

She pulls away from him, standing up and rearranging her skirts. “You’ve made yourself clear. I’ll be on my way. Please don’t exit this room for several minutes after I do.”

“Rey—”

“Goodbye, Mr. Ren.”

She doesn’t look behind her when she leaves, or when she’s collected her coat and walking out the door.

It’s not until she gets onto the street and the cool night air creeps under her skirt that she realizes that in her indignant haste, she left her drawers on the floor of that parlor.

“Damn,” she says, looking back at the house. “That was my only pair.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Wild Nights--Wild Nights! by Emily Dickinson
> 
> find me on tumblr at kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips


End file.
